


Can't See (but I'm listening)

by osmalic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hunting, Hurt!Sam, M/M, Pining, hurt!Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-10-20
Updated: 2008-10-20
Packaged: 2017-10-22 00:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/osmalic/pseuds/osmalic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam's getting visions from a ghost, but Dean's the one getting the message.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't See (but I'm listening)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I'd Give Anything to See You Again](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/4015) by merihn. 



"...having visions where you _..._ and _you're touching me in them,"_ Sam says, and for a moment Dean can't understand until he _does._ And...oh. Okay. Okay, he gets it.

He could have said, _Dude, **ew** ,_ but the moment's gone before he knows it. Because Dean's too busy thinking, _Oh god, does he know?_

There's an awkward moment where they don't stare at each other, then they're up and circling the one-bedroom cabin where they've been trapped for hours and a day—doors locked, windows boarded shut. A quick peer through the slats shows that darkness will fall soon.

A ghost named Daniel Norton is rumored to be hanging around in his old family cabin, and they stupidly made a rookie mistake of hauling in the lighter stuff first—salt packets, knives, gas—before they're trapped in. Dean's not one for getting psychic mumbo-jumbo, but this house feels unfinished, closed, heavy with a secret. The heavy walls hardly make a scrape when they dash their blades to carve an impromptu exit. It's like a force field, one of those Star Wars shit where the walls are sturdy and eerily without marks.

There's nothing to do but look for the source, except now Sam's getting—

"Maybe you can look through the visions again," Dean mutters, falling back to the chair with their father's journal on his lap. "Any clue on how to get out of here might be great right now."

"Kinda hard, me being all. You know, me being _distracted._ By all the _visions of touching."_ Sam's voice is scathing.

Dean rolls his eyes. _Whine, whine, whine,_ he thinks as he fidgets with the journal on his lap, trying to hide his unease. "Do some yoga, man, I don't care. You're always all for those new-age—"

"I don't think it works that way, I have to wait for him—" Then Sam's gone again, his eyes blank and unseeing, staring at Dean's lap for a long time that Dean forgets to breathe.

"Sam?" he says softly.

"Yeah," Sam barks out suddenly, startling them both. Sam blinks, as if getting used to the light, before he turns away.

"Vision?" Dean asks dryly, and he wants to ask, _In the vision, were we still touching and how and were my hands touching you..._ But he pauses, searches for other words to ask instead, "What did you see?"

"This Daniel must be really messed up," Sam mutters. He gets up to pace, scratching his head and throwing Dean and Dad's journal uneasy looks. "I just—my _head_ , man..." He pauses, blows his breath out in frustration.

Dean rolls his eyes. Jesus, he wants to get out of here, grab a burger, _stop thinking about Sam and touching,_ but his brother has to get all guilty. "Look," he says, "it's obvious this Norton guy is messing with your head. You obviously have...some connection with him."

Sam's silent for a moment, until he says, "I don't know what he's trying to say. It's not like I can _concentrate_ you know." Dean keep his gaze right above Sam's left shoulder, still listening. "He doesn't look...threatening, it feels like he's just. Watching. Us."

"Kinky," Dean mumbles before he can help it.

Sam flushes. _"Dean."_

"Hmm." Dean has read the Dad's journal from front to back, little notes and post-its included. There's nothing there that will register "spirit" + "incest" + "gay touching" + "visions" but Dad has this long, melancholy entry about spirits with regrets so Dean gets right into it. A few minutes are spent in silence, until he realizes that Sam hasn't said a word and...

Sam has fallen asleep on the rickety chair, his large body draped awkwardly as if he would rather be sprawled by trying not to.

For a second, Dean is _furious._ Sam knows better than to fall asleep on a job, and he should have—

He takes a deep breath, frowns when he realizes. Sam's breathing isn't deep and languid, it's fast and a little panicky. Like a shot, Dean has crossed the room, his fingers digging hard into Sam's thigh as he kneels before him. "Sam," he yells sharply, shaking his brother awake. _"Sam!"_

"Jesus," Sam moans, and Dean's heartbeat doesn't slow down, not when his brother seems to have a hard time rousing himself from this stupor. "I...Dean, I..."

"You okay?" Dean peers into his eyes, startled when Sam jerks back from his touch. Goddammit, it's a _normal_ _reaction_ and Dean can't get why he still feels his stomach clenching strangely. "What did you...?"

Sam turns away from him, puts his head in his hands. "Norton...Daniel Norton was standing there." He points towards a spot. "Same place, I think. Yeah, there."

Dean stands, checking the spot Sam indicates. He lets the heels of his boots tap on the ground until Sam says, "Exactly there," where he stops to kneel. There's a loose floorboard that creaks when he puts more weight than usual.

He's startled when Sam kneels next to him, helping him pry the boards away. _He's in this hunt, too,_ Dean thinks, so of _course_ Sam is here, but at that moment, he's wishing Sam is far, far away from him.

There's a rusted box that they easily break, and there's a journal inside, papers all yellow and crusted. "Some guy writes a _journal?"_

"Shut up, man, everyone has thoughts. Dad has one."

"Jesus, no _wonder_ he lives in this stupid cabin, probably a hermit too, probably all broody—"

 _"Josh came around again today, asking if we could talk,"_ Sam announced suddenly, and Dean has to stare at him for a while to realize that Sam has opened the book to read one of the pages out-loud. _"He's nice enough but he has to know that this can never work."_ Dean creeps closer, looking over his shoulder to strain at the scratchy handwriting.

The note continues: _It's not even my parents and their aversion to my sexual leanings, but that I just don't find him attractive like that. Sometimes I wish I did, but I know that he idolizes me for reasons that he shouldn't, that he wants me because there's no one else._

Fucking ghost used this cabin for his _sex escapades._ He has to grin at that one. _Hey, Sammy, we're trapped in this guy's trysting room._ Only it wouldn't sound so good, and Dean knows it would fall flat anyway. And Sam's too close. Too close.

"So he had an admirer," Dean finally manages.

"An admirer he didn't want," Sam says thoughtfully.

He's about to answer when _there._ There and then, Dean _gets it._ Jesus, he finally _gets it_ and he wants to get out now, get Sam away from this cursed house before all his secrets are laid bare like a fucking daytime soap opera. Goddamn stupid journal with it's... _rejection._

It's not like Dean knows Sam's going to...accept him. Like that. He knows it, but he's not going to...He _knows,_ okay. He doesn't need someone else's past to say it to him in, written in someone else's handwriting on fucking brittle paper. _He already knows._

Dean has to jump back when Sam moves again, this time to pick up a crumpled, yellowing paper, reading aloud, _"Daniel, I need to see you. I dream about you, I dream about your hands on my skin, your lips on mine—"_ before he cuts himself off.

"That's gotta be the admirer," Dean garbles. "Couldn't help it, got obsessed?" _I wouldn't,_ he thinks furiously.

Sam shrugs, gathers all the papers to shove them inside the book. "Probably couldn't handle it, so he killed Norton."

"That wasn't," Dean's saying, before he can stop himself. "I mean, that's not love." His body feels tense, ready to bolt, to throw himself to the door and get out. He wants to promise Sam, _"I would never do that,"_ but he bites his tongue, shakes his head. "How could he do that? How can anyone?"

"Love's a powerful emotion," Sam says quietly, but there's an intense look creasing his face.

Dean growls, about to disagree when.

When Sam lurches forward, dropping the book.

"Whoa, Sammy!" Dean manages, holding out his arms to catch him, drawing him nearer without a thought. His brother shudders, leans towards him, moaning as he presses his forehead against the crook of Dean's neck. His breaths are harsh, his fingers creeping over Dean's chest, fingers tangling with the necklace.

Dean looks around, tries to maneuver Sam into lying down, but it's over before he can move again, over because Sam pushes him away suddenly, breathing hard. It takes a moment for Sam to gather himself, not moving, not fucking _breathing._

"You okay?" Dean finally asks.

"The visions. Man," Sam grounds out, pressing his knuckles against his forehead. "I've been...they're more frequent now, and I've."

"Fuck."

"He was." Sam gestures at a general direction, towards the wall, near the bedroom. "He was there next, and he was looking. I dunno. _God,_ this is surreal." He laughs shakily, adds softly, "Dude, it's freaky. You're here, then you're not, and we're..."

 _And I’m touching you when I shouldn’t,_ Dean finishes. He doesn’t want to talk about this, he wants this finished. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, he looks. Dean, it's like he _wants_ to be found."

"It can't be that easy," Dean says, trying to make his voice light as he paces the floorboards again. "Wouldn't you do a better job hiding a body?"

"Crime of passion," Sam counters, getting up to help him. There's no telltale creaking sound on the spot he pointed. "His...his lover could have panicked. And this place is isolated, there's no one around. He could have dug it from outside."

"Too easy," Dean stresses stubbornly, because no ghost wants to be found unless they've finished what they've done. Maybe it's done because it's ruined Dean. Fuck, now he thinks _everything's about **me** , _and he'll cry on Sam's shoulder next. Fuck. "Got something to lever with these boards?"

"Here." Sam passes him a knife, sways when their fingers touch before he shakes his head, winces.

"We're getting out, man," Dean tells him encouragingly, and he wishes _it really is simple._ "Almost there."

"Can't wait," Sam says, then laughs softly. "I wanna take a shower."

Dean almost stabs himself with the knife. _You talk about...visions of us touching. And you mention **showers?**_ Seriously, he wants to kill Sam right now. There's only so much a man can take, and right now the word _brother_ isn't helping his imagination. _I've stuck with him through **everything,**_ he thinks wrathfully as he manages to pry some boards away. In his mind, in his fantasies that he only lets lose when he's alone, Sam's body is flush against him, accepting. _I'm not gonna...I know he doesn't want me, so you can just cut it out—_

"Hey," Sam interrupts. "We got it."

It's probably an ulna that sticks out of the red earth. Carpal bones have been scattered, probably by rats and burrowing animals, but they're there. Seeing them washes Dean with relief, knowing that they'll be getting out _soon._ This cabin is making a mess out of him, as if it's sucking out his free will and choices. Outside, he can start salvaging his pride and his relationship with his brother.

It's all so simple that he genuinely feels _happy._

So happy that when Sam suddenly leans forward, that when their lips touch, Dean actually raises a hand to rest against his brother's nape, pulling him closer. So happy that he actually opens his mouth and lets Sam's tongue touch his, gentle and wet and _holy shit he's kissing Sam._

"It's Daniel's fault!" Sam blurts out when Dean shoves him away.

 _Thought so,_ he thinks smugly, sadly, trying to get his breathing under control. _Get your dick out of gutter._ He'd always thought, _"I wouldn't,"_ but in this small confine in the middle of nowhere, it seems like _he can._

This isn't going to end well, so they'll have to end it fast.

"Come on," he says, voice harsher than he intended. "You gonna help me or what?"

For a few minute, Dean works alone, the sounds in the small building filled with his grunts from removing floor boards, but finally Sam gets into the program.

It takes them a few minutes later, but they manage to expose enough earth. Because of the space between the floor and the earth, and probably because it's nearer the air outside, the soil is loosened by vegetation. It's been years, but the skeleton still has the remains of clothing, buttons, a shoe. Daniel Norton's body is flexed, as if haphazardly thrown, cranium and jaw already separated from the vertebra. The hole is shallow, the grave a seeming after-thought.

Dean scatters the meager salt from his pocket, hoping it'll be enough. There's very little gas, but dry bones burn easier so it'll be okay. He's about to strike the match when he looks up.

Sam's staring at the remains, and Dean catches himself thinking how strange that only Sam sees this ghost.

He holds out the matches. "Wanna do the honors?" he rasps out.

Sam stares at him, then at his hand before he snatches the box, drops a lighted match into the hole. It flares suddenly, roars with its initial catch. Dean's hand is on Sam's arm, pulling him back before he knows it, but the fire is already settling, spreading over Norton's remains.

There's a creaking sound, making them jump and stand on their guard.

But it's the lock unlatching, the door opening slightly. They stare at it for a moment, then at each other.

"Hey, it worked," Dean exclaims, confused.

"It's your quick formula, right?" Sam says scathingly. "Your quick Dean-fixes-it-all? Salt them, burn them, and they'll all go away?"

Dean stares at Sam, sees how he's glaring staring at something— _someone—_ at Dean's side. Light flickers in his eyes, making him look dangerous, angry.

Dean feels burned out. It's not that simple, and now he knows why the ghost never showed up for him.

Daniel Norton was trying to warn Sammy, telling him to be careful. To watch out for himself, because Dean's a wild bullet, too unstable, and who'll protect him from Dean now that it's all in the open? Dean had thought, _"I wouldn't,"_ but he pulled Sammy to him, kissed Sammy, goddamn touched his little brother and there's no going back now.

Dean doesn't have to see Norton's ghost because he's already haunted.

But there's already regret blooming in Sam's eyes. Dean turns away; there's no need for apologies. "We have to burn the book, too," he says quietly instead. "Then we'll have to rebury the remains."

Sam looks away and Dean doesn't try to catch his eyes again.

Because Sam doesn't have to say it. Dean's not stupid enough to think it would be simple for both of them. He might not have seen this ghost, but he hears what he's trying to say.

Dean's still hearing it.

He's hearing it loud and clear.


End file.
